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I’m out of bed and at the door before I know what’s happening. It’s a dumb idea, I know it is, but I knock anyway.
“Come in.”
I open the door. Nora’s propped up in bed, the coverlet tucked around her hips. She’s wearing this white silky tank top thing that makes my brain short circuit. For a full beat I just stand there like a dumbstruck peeper, eyes roving over her bare shoulders, the outline of her nipples just barely visible through the thin material.
“You’re—” My voice is hoarse. I clear it and try again. “You’re a Julian Fellowes fan too.”
Nora looks up and smiles, and goddamn, I feel it like a punch to the face. “Have been since Lady Mary and cousin Matthew got it on.”
“Downton is so good. You see the movies?”
She rolls her eyes. “Did I see the movies.”
“I did too.”
“Let me guess, you took your sisters.”
“Yup.”
Another beat of silence. Then, looking away, Nora pats the empty spot on the bed beside her. “Wanna watch an episode together?”
“You sure?” Be sure be sure please ask me to stay.
“As long as you promise not to try any funny business.”
I hold up my hands. “As long as your promise stands not to murder me in my sleep.”
“Deal.”
I climb onto the bed, careful to keep plenty of distance between us. I also stay on top of the covers, even though I run the risk of her being able to see whatever my dick’s up to. Right now it’s behaving. But then I catch a hit of Nora’s perfume and my skin tightens, heaviness settling between my legs.
Must not look at her nipples.
Must not.
But I do. Fuck, I do, and the heaviness deepens, gathers in the head of my dick when I see her nipples have pebbled to these sweet little points that poke against her top. She’s not wearing a bra. Does that mean she’s not wearing panties either?
My mouth salivates. I grab a pillow from behind me and cover my lap with it, shifting uncomfortably on the mattress.
Nora frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “You okay?”
“Great,” I bite out.
“You don’t sound great.” Her eyes flick to my lap.
Change the subject. Have to. Now. “That’s why you were watching us,” I blurt. “At Coyote Joe’s—that’s why you were watching me line dance with my family. Because your family doesn’t ever do shit like that.”
Her expression softens, which only makes my dick harder. “We don’t do anything together.”
“I thought you might be making fun of us. Like you were leering or something, the way Aiden was.”
She digs her teeth into her bottom lip. “I wanted to be out there with y’all. It looked like you were having a blast.”
“We were, yeah. Until I saw you and freaked out. I was sure you’d go back to the desk and tell everyone my family’s a bunch of crop-top wearing rednecks.”
“And that’s why you were such a jerk that Monday,” she says, eyes narrowing as the pieces come together. “You were scared. I saw the real reason why you work so hard, and it’s not a reason you’re proud of, even though you should be. I saw what you didn’t want me to see.”
I swallow. This conversation took a turn I didn’t anticipate. If I’m being honest, though, I don’t hate it. Feels good to talk about these things.
“Worse, you were cool about it,” I reply. “I know my family doesn’t exactly mesh with the kind of overachievers who inhabit our world. Reputation matters on Wall Street, and if people knew the truth about where I come from . . .”
“They’d think less of you.”
“They’d judge me. My family’s great, but you saw them. They’re also a huge freaking mess. I risk losing respect if people see how different we are. And when that goes, so does the money. And money—” I blow out a breath. “My parents had me when they were eighteen, Nora. They gave up everything to raise me, all these opportunities to get an education, get good jobs. Money was always tight. Really tight. And it was my fault.”
Nora’s brows pinch together. “It’s not your fault your parents had you when they did. That was their choice, not yours.”
“But someone had to take responsibility. Especially after my sisters came along. I wanted the best for them, you know? The way my parents scraped and saved to give me the best.” Shit, my voice is going hoarse again.
Nora puts a hand on my arm, the warmth of her touch seeping into my skin. “And you work really, really hard to make sure they do get the best.”
“I try, yeah.” I stare at her hand, the long, slender fingers, the neatly trimmed nails.
“That’s a lot to take on,” she says. “I imagine you feel tremendous pressure to perform so you can bring home that bacon.”
